


Section 31: Shadow Wolf

by EmperorHaruhi



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: 20 years later, Crossover, Fanart Included, Illustrated, Multi, Older Julian Bashir, Section 31 (Star Trek), Stone is a badass and should be treated as such, everyone is married and happy dont worry, set vaguely in the Little Achievements universe, the crossover nobody expected but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmperorHaruhi/pseuds/EmperorHaruhi
Summary: While accepting the Carrington Award, Julian is approached by the mysterious Commander Stone, who seems to know a little bittoomuch about his life...Julian gives the other man a quick once-over from behind the rim of his own glass. He’s long since learned to trust his instincts when it comes to strangers, and something about Stone’s presence makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, although he can’t pinpoint quite what it is. Weapons are banned inside the reception hall, but over twenty five years of knowing Garak means he can think of a dozen ways to get a phaser past the sensors with only minor effort. Stone looks like the type of man who knows those dozen tricks, plus a few more.
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Section 31: Shadow Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set (sort of) within the [Little Achievements](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073979/chapters/63417001) universe! For those who haven't seen this amazing piece of work (performed by Sid and Andy themselves!!) the important things to know are that it's ~20 years after DS9, Julian has come to Andoria to accept the Carrington award, and him and Garak are happily married.

“Congratulations on the award, Julian Bashir.”

“Thank you.” Is Julian’s automatic reply, as it has been all night. Internally, he sighs. He’s been trying to get a break from the well-wishers for an hour, but as the guest of honor, he’s expected to socialize. He plasters on the polite smile that feels like it’s been carved into his cheekbones by now, and turns to face the speaker.

A Starfleet uniform is the first thing he notices, followed by the number of pips on it, and he subtly straightens up on his bar stool, fighting an old instinct to clasp his hands behind his back. The Commander standing in front of him appears human, dark hair and beard neatly trimmed, teeth stark white against warm brown skin as he smiles. Broad shoulders striped with yellow mark him as security or engineering; the hint of muscle visible even through the thick synthetic cloth Starfleet uses leads Julian to think it’s the former.

“May I join you?” he asks, gesturing to the vacant seat, and Julian nods, turning back towards the bar as he sits.

An Andorian bartender glides over a moment later, and the mysterious Commander graces her with the same smile. “Earth latte. Real coffee, and steamed milk with a dash of caramel.”

Julian’s eyebrows fly upwards as the bartender leaves to go prepare the drink. “I thought everyone in Starfleet switched to raktajino years ago.”

“Never acquired a taste for it.” The Commander shrugs, tilting his head slightly to face Julian. “Unlike yourself.”

Julian freezes, drink halfway to his lips. Slowly lowering the glass, he smooths out the hem of his tunic before turning to the other man with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry Commander, I don’t believe I caught your name?”

“How rude of me.” He extends a hand. “Commander Stone. But please, lets not dwell on rank. My friends call me Stone.”

Julian takes it. The man has a firm grip, hands riddled with callouses, and he tightens his own in return. “And what do people who aren’t your friends call you?”

Stone laughs as he withdraws his arm. “They still call me Stone, just in a rather different tone of voice.” His drink arrives, and he mutters his thanks to the bartender before taking a sip. “Hmm. They never do get the coffee right.”

Julian gives the other man a quick once-over from behind the rim of his own glass. He’s long since learned to trust his instincts when it comes to strangers, and something about Stone’s presence makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, although he can’t pinpoint quite what it is. Weapons are banned inside the reception hall, but over twenty five years of knowing Garak means he can think of a dozen ways to get a phaser past the sensors with only minor effort. Stone looks like the type of man who knows those dozen tricks, plus a few more.

“Your speech on the Carrington debate floor was brilliant.” Stone toasts him, and he nods politely in return. “If anyone had their doubts about your eligibility for the award, you laid them all squarely to rest.”

Julian knows a backhanded compliment when he’s been given one, and he bristles. “I would hope so, considering this is my… oh, fifth nomination, I believe? Or was it sixth? I’ve lost track, I’m afraid.”

Stone fails to rise to the bait, leaning back against the bar and balancing his mug on a folded knee, the very picture of relaxation. “How’s life on Cardassia Prime treating you, Bashir?”

“It’s treating me just fine, thanks.” Julian replies cautiously. He’s been asked similar questions by Starfleet officers in the past, which usually lead on down one of two roads. He’s occasionally surprised to find himself talking to a fellow xenophile, eager to hear a firsthand account of life in Cardassian society. Relations between the Union and the Federation are healing, if at a glacial pace.

Not everyone can forgive the Dominion War so quickly, which is why the majority of the time he’s subject to a passive aggressive interrogation about his motives for ‘siding with those cardies’. At the moment, he’s willing to bet latinum that Stone falls into the latter category.

“A pity your husband couldn't join you for the award ceremony.” The Commander’s foot taps lightly to the beat of the music drifting from the string quartet in the corner, but his eyes are constantly moving around the room, scanning each occupant as they pass by.

Julian’s feeling of unease grows at the comment, and he gestures towards the frozen landscape of Andoria just beyond the reception hall’s windows. “Cardassians don’t mix well with ice planets.” In his experience, short answers have proven the most effective strategy for dealing with those who object to his marriage.

“Of course.” Stone agrees. After a moment he adds, in a much quieter tone of voice; “I can hardly imagine working on Cardassia’s been as fulfilling as being CMO of a space station in the middle of an intergalactic war. Let alone your _dear Elim’s_ downgrade from member of the Obsidian Order to a mere tailor… don’t you ever miss the _excitement_?”

Julian tosses back the dregs of his drink before putting down his glass with a sharp _click,_ hot fury bubbling in his chest at Stone’s words. "I think it's about time you tell me who you really are, and what you want from me."

Stone raises an eyebrow impassively. "Commander Stone, Starfleet service number 0214-LM-2020. You're welcome to check with the computer, if you like."

"That doesn't answer the second half of my question."

Stone smiles. It's different than the ones from before, darker, and something in Julian's memory slides into place, a flash of deja-vu. It’s the same smile Sloan and his agents used to wear.

"You're from Section 31." He says, before the other man can respond.

"The file said you had an augmented brain. I'm almost disappointed it took you this long to figure it out." Stone takes a leisurely sip of his drink.

Julian's hands shake, just slightly, and he clamps them around his empty glass before they can betray him. "Section 31 was crippled."

"We've been… revitalized. Under new management."

“If you’re thinking of going after Garak for something he did _twenty years ago_...”

“Is there a reason we should be ‘going after’ your husband?” Stone turns on his stool to look at him, and Julian has the sudden urge to wipe the smug look off the man’s face with his fists.

“Garak is retired. Unless you’re a particularly under-performing orchid, you have nothing to fear from him.”

“And yourself, Julian Bashir?” Stone’s tone is haughty and challenging, and Julian stands up, crowding into the other man’s space. The Commander doesn’t so much as blink.

“I am nothing more than a man who wants to help and heal others, as I have my entire life. So you can run back to your shadows, _Agent Rock_ , and tell whoever’s running Section 31 that I will not be drawn into their mind games again. You can threaten us all you like, Garak and I are done. We just want to be left alone.”

Stone tilts his head slightly, looking down at the bartop. “Did you get all that, Doctor?”

Julian steps back in confusion, frowning. “Get all that? What are you talking about, I was the one who-”

He’s interrupted by a voice from Stone’s combadge. “Of course I did, Stone. Fine, we can cross him off the list.”

“Excellent. Mission completed, then.”

There’s a pause, where Julian can just hear the sound of buttons being pressed in rapid succession. “Bring back some of the Denobulan eclairs from the buffet.” The voice orders, before the line goes dead.

As the connection _bleeps_ closed, Stone places his mug back on the bar top, taking a long, slow breath. His shoulders relax millimeter by millimeter, until by the time he turns back to Julian his demeanor has changed completely. Gone is the arrogantly smug Agent of Section 31; in his place is a jovial Starfleet officer who looks like he's just returned from a leisurely stroll on the holodeck. Julian is reminded suddenly and unpleasantly of Weyoun, and checks that the other man's eyes haven't turned purple.

"My sincerest apologies for what just happened, but it had to be done." Stone sighs, rolling his neck in a loose circle.

"Do you mind letting me know what the hell is going on?" Julian demands over crossed arms, refusing to move from his position hovering over the other man.

"The Doctor wanted to make sure you weren't a threat. That you weren't coming for us, or for Section 31. We’ve been monitoring your communications during the conference, but a direct confrontation was our crucial last step.”

"I'm assuming this _Doctor_ was the one listening in?"

"Yes, and he's still got eyes on us, so don't say anything too scathing. He might change his mind about what to do with you if you insult him."

Julian whips his head around, but there is no one standing within eavesdropping distance. He begins scanning the ceiling for hidden cameras, a move that earns a chuckle out of Stone.

"I'm only joking. Well, mostly joking." Stone tilts his head towards Julian's former seat. "Please, sit down."

Cautiously, Julian sinks back down onto the vacated stool as Stone motions the bartender over again. “Port. Tawny, if you have it on file. And for yourself?”

“Oh, uh, redleaf tea, thanks.” He side-eyes the other man. “May I be frank? I still have no idea what just happened. Was this some kind of test?”

“Of sorts. A vetting process, if you like. An Obsidian Order agent, even retired, and a genetically enhanced Starfleet officer could make for a dangerous pair of enemies. Especially when one of them had previously sworn to dismantle our organization." Stone frowns, lost in thought for a moment. "You wouldn't have succeeded, of course, but the Doctor likes to be thorough."

“So you, what, wanted to make sure that all this-” Julian gestures at himself, then to the banner congratulating him on his Carrington on the wall across the room, “-wasn’t some façade? That _twenty years_ after my last contact with Section 31 I wasn’t coming to take down an organization that I didn’t even know still existed, from within the Cardassian Union?” He waves an arm in indignation, nearly clipping Stone’s ear in his enthusiasm to emphasize his point. The Commander remains unflinchingly still. “That my marriage to Garak wasn’t some kind of sham, that we haven’t been plotting together this entire time?”

Stone nods. “Those were his main concerns, yes.”

Julian drops his arm heavily as the bartender returns with their drinks, mouth opening and closing in an attempt to find an appropriate response. “Pardon me for saying so, but this Doctor fellow of yours sounds quite mad.”

Stone hums cheerfully as he lifts his glass in a mid-air toast. “In all the best ways.”

Julian picks up his own mug slowly, replaying his entire conversation with the Commander back in his head as they both drink. He can feel the colour rising in his cheeks when he realizes; “Did you say you’ve been monitoring my communications?”

Stone nods, idly swirling his port. “Don’t worry, we have no interest in your… _personal_ life. Oh, the bots went through your belongings as well. I’m sure Garak will love the Kadpul seeds you’ve bought him.”

Julian sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He should be furious, but he’s had his privacy invaded so many times in the past that he’s rarely surprised when it happens these days. Stone’s blunt honesty is such a far cry from his previous dealings with Section 31 that he’s almost grateful. “So, we’re off this _list_ of yours? I can go home to my husband without having to make sure one of your agents isn’t about to force me into some deadly scheme, or shoot me in the back?”

“Free and clear. At least for now. I can’t guarantee what the Doctor will do in the future. Stay away from black-market deals or high-stakes phaser fights for a few months and you should be fine.”

“Not a problem. 54 is far too old to be playing secret agent Bashir, skulking about the galaxy in long black coats with hidden phasers.”

Stone chokes on his drink at the comment, and Julian stares at him in open confusion as the man coughs and splutters with laughter into a napkin. “I’m sorry.” Stone manages after a moment, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, “I was thinking of someone who’d very much disagree with your comment.” He composes himself with another sip of port, before setting the glass down and leaning in close with a brief touch to the other man’s wrist. “I really do apologize for having to insult you and your husband. For what it’s worth, I understand.”

“You understand what it’s like to marry a Cardassian?”

“Not quite that specifically, no. But I do understand what it’s like to love someone...” Stone pauses, eyes glittering as he leans back, chooses his words. “...others wouldn’t understand. Someone with a past. With secrets.” A movement on the bartop catches Julian’s eye – for the first time he notices the thin black and red band around Stone’s ring finger as the man twists it absentmindedly with his thumb.

Julian stares at him for a long moment, tense shoulders slowly lowering. Stone’s voice is warm and earnest, and while he can’t shake the thought that this could be a new attempt to lower his guard before an attack, the romantic in him wants to believe Stone’s words. “You know it’s funny, I actually believe you’re telling the truth.”

“I have been this entire time, Bashir.” Stone stands, straightening his uniform before giving Julian’s own outfit a long once-over. “I might send my husband your way soon. He could use a new coat, and your Garak does excellent work.” He brushes a hand over Julian’s shoulder, feeling the fabric of his tunic with a nod before turning to leave. “Congratulations on the Carrington, and have a safe shuttle ride home.”

“Oh, er, you too!” Julian calls after the Commander as he strides away, frowning at his sudden exit. “What an odd man.” Pulling a tricorder from his belt, he runs it over the spot where Stone had touched him, snorting with amusement as it registers the presence of a tracking chip. A bit of quick work with a cocktail stick loosens the chip from his clothing, and he eyes the little white square as it rests on his fingertip. “They’re getting sloppy if they think they could get away with that.” With a sigh, he drops the chip into his half-empty tea mug, and leaves to go have another pass at the buffet.

* * *

The moment Stone steps into his guest quarters, he’s greeted by Robotnik’s scowling face on his screen. “And just what was _that_ sentimental nonsense?”

Stone tosses his uniform jacket aside before coming to sit at the desk. “It worked, didn’t it? Distracted him long enough to plant the bugs.”

The Doctor hums noncommittally, pulling up a map for them to both view. Four red dots blink silently, scattered about a room several doors away from Stone’s own. “He found two of them.”

“The one on his shoulder and the one in his bag, leaving four on his person and two inside his shuttle. Exactly as you predicted.”

Robotnik grins as his attention is caught by something on another screen. “He’s accessing your file.” The grin widens, moustache curling upwards, as a faint beeping is heard. “And trying to find mine. Ooh, clever, a recursive trace algorithm. Followed by an inverse pattern block, how unique...”

Stone leaves his screen on as he kicks off his boots and tosses his undershirt to join the jacket on the bed before wandering into the attached washroom. Robotnik continues his absent-minded monologue to Stone’s empty room as he idly blocks Bashir’s attempts to access Section 31’s files with one hand and drinks from a steaming mug with the other. Stone re-enters, face washed and dressed in loose pajamas, just in time to see Robotnik grimace and toss his mug behind him with a crash.

“Did Bashir get one of the files?” Stone asks, hurrying to sit down at the desk again.

“Hmm? No. Of course not!” Robotnik glances back as a cleaning Badnik swoops in, mopping up the spilled drink and pottery shards. “Despite my _constant_ modifications, the replicator still fails to produce an adequate cup of coffee.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow to make your _adequate_ lattes.” Stone props his head up with a hand as he smiles fondly at the screen.

“Did you get the Denobulan...” Robotnik breaks off when Stone lifts a plate from the desk with his other hand, stacked high with a colourful assortment of pastries.

“Denobulan eclairs, fried Ktarian sugar bread, Gemarian redberry cake and Andorian caramels.” Stone takes one from the edge of the plate, popping it in his mouth.

“Excellent.” Robotnik snorts in amusement as his screen beeps again. “Bashir’s given up the search. Not that it matters, now that we have permanent access to his personal files.” He flicks idly through a list of file names. “Ugh. 3 petabytes of Cardassian literature.”

“I’ll start analyzing the files tomorrow, Doctor. A bit of light reading for my shuttle ride home.”

“If I hear you quote so much as a single sentence of _The Never-_ _E_ _nding Sacrifice_ I’m locking the doors.” Closing the list of files with an absent-minded wave, he turns to give Stone his full attention. “Give me your honest opinion of the man.”

“Of Bashir?” Stone mentally reviews the three days he’s been tailing him around the Carrington conference, and the fifteen minutes they spent talking that evening. “Overall, rather dull. With a Starfleet record as long and frequently redacted as his, I expected someone more exciting. Guess he’s gone soft in his old age. I believe what he said. He’s nothing more than a man who wants to help others and go home to his husband.”

Robotnik raises a wry eyebrow. “A boring _old_ man, would you say?”

Stone’s eyes glitter as he extends an arm theatrically, turning to gaze at a point just above his screen. “The difference being, Doctor, that age cannot wither you, nor custom stale your infinite variety...”

Robotnik holds up a hand, emphatically pressing several buttons on his control glove. From behind him comes the sound of a door sealing shut. “That’s it, you can sleep in the storage shed. Shakespeare is just as bad as Corac.”

Stone laughs as he drops his arm. “You’ll be stuck drinking replicated coffee for another day.”

Robotnik pretends to consider this carefully. “I suppose I can make an exception, just this once. In recognition of your exemplary service this past week.” He raises his hand again, and the doors unseal. Tugging down his control gloves, he carefully smooths the curled ends of his moustache, cheeks faintly pink. “Your skills have been squandered on too many pointless surveillance missions lately. I have other work for you. At headquarters.”

“I miss you too, Ivo. I’ll be glad to come home.”

* * *

Days in the dead zone on his trip home had given Julian more than enough time to re-dig through his belongings, combing every inch of both them and the shuttle with a tricorder in an attempt to locate anything else left or taken by Section 31. When his search came up with nothing more than an old memory core download, he flopped heavily into the pilots chair with a long sigh. He didn’t believe Commander Stone, no matter what the man had said about their investigation being over, but there was little else he could do about it now. He’d have to tell Garak to sweep the house as soon as possible.

Speaking of Garak… the shuttle must surely have been near the edge of the dead zone by now. The faintest hint of stars were beginning to fade in and out of the swirling blackness that had been his constant companion. As the computer bleeped notification of an incoming transmission from Cardassia Prime, he turned to the smiling face of his husband.

“ _And thus, he emerges,” Garak said. “It’s been far too long, Doctor...”_

* * *

If the image in this fic did not load please click [here](https://flic.kr/p/2jWGyYM) to view a copy

**Author's Note:**

> The _amazing_ drawing of Commander Stone was done by the wonderful **ayjaydraws** who you should all follow on [Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/ayjaydraws/)


End file.
